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His name was RasoolCarmel completed boy from the 22Rough on the outsideBut on the inside he was coolRasool was a kingBut also a foolBack on the block again with the same crewTariq from the west sideLittle John form the avenueAlways seen um bout a quarter to twoShaking hands with everybodyBut at the same time sharing the bluesAnd oh how he passed it onShaking hands till what was in his pockets was goneHe'd be outside in the cold with his bubble goose onBut insideI knew he wasn't warmAround 10:30 on that dreary nightHis bowaz said they were hungry they were hungryWanted to get a biteBut they didn't send a runnerRasool knew it wasn't rightBut he stayed anyway to get the chain he likedAnd oh how the shots rang in the streetsHitting everybody in the surrounding vicinityChildren of the childrenOne young father to beAnd Rasool lay dead in my north Philly StreetAt fifteen years oldIt was the first death I'd seenBut the game ain't designed for no kind of winningAnd oh this is a friend of RasoolTelling you to think about what you do and who you call your crewThe very choices you makeMay make a Rasool out of youNow you don't want that do you?